Administrative Hiring and Your Institutional Brand

If you are anything like me, you may succumb to job ads for an administrative leadership position that happens to open “at a particularly exciting time” at a place like “Sunshine University.” After all, the institution is “nestled amid the beauty of crystal clear waters and beaches,” “known for its accomplished faculty and world-class facilities,” and recognized by Forbes, niche, and U.S. News as one of “America’s Best Value for Valedictorians.” The strategic plan (“Forward with Sunshine!”) boasts alliterative opportunities to “forge our future.” According to the position profile, enrollment is growing; the provost is a change agent; the president hails from Princeton University; and the salary will be “commensurate with experience,” of which you have plenty. You apply.

Before you know it, you arrive on site for the campus interview. Since this is an administrative position, two full days of meetings and meals ensue with various constituencies, including institutional leadership, industry or alumni advisory board, development officials, faculty and staff members, and students—a veritable tour de force. The experience is framed between the time you find a gift basket as you first enter your hotel room and the exit interview with the senior administrator in charge of hiring. They will inform you about the timeline for a decision and thank you for coming with a winning smile, eye contact and a handshake. You fly home and wait.

Well, not entirely. After returning home, most of us candidates will send messages to the president, provost, chair of the search committee, and other people with whom we connected during the visit. We do this not only because we want to confirm our continuing interest, but also because we want to thank our hosts for their interest in our candidacy, for helping answer numerous questions and for managing the visit humanely (think: regular breaks between interview events). You wait again.

As someone who has been on 16+ campus visits for chair, dean and provost positions on three continents, I have been astonished by the drastic change in attitude by hiring institutions and their representatives between our time on a campus and afterwards. I am not exactly sure why this happens: we applicants know and accept the risk of not getting a position, because there were three or four other qualified candidates, including internal ones. However, what is difficult to understand is when the same individuals who recently shared a meal with us, gave us an extended tour of the campus, or conversed about their teaching methods and hobbies suddenly give us the silent treatment. Gradually, we develop a cognitive dissonance between “Forward with Sunshine!” and our post-visit treatment. We feel gaslighted.

It can get worse. Last fall, I was a candidate for a deanship at a place like Sunshine University. The reception was warm, the gift basket in the hotel room included one of my favorite snacks and I had the impression I connected with the constituents I met. After getting home, I sent a handful of messages to individual faculty and staff members whom I had encountered. In addition, I sent one message with a debrief of my visit to provost and president, and another message with that debrief to the search committee chair for distribution to the search committee. The debrief contained a list of observations (impressive potential for outreach; didn’t get to meet students during visit), and I sketched some projects that I imagined pursuing were I to become the dean.

After a week, only one staff member and the leaders of the university’s advancement team had responded. I was especially shocked by one colleague, who had asked me about my scholarship during a car ride into town. I had sent them a copy of one of my articles with some additional information, but received no reply.

Then a short message from the search chair arrived, promising they would be in touch after the winter break, even though the provost had originally told me to expect a quick decision. I had to reach out several times for additional information until I learned that “the provost was stepping down,” the search was “on hold,” and the institution would “keep me advised.” Finally, an automated HR message addressed to “Dear Applicant” notified me that the job would “not be filled at this time.”

Two days later, I received a message from the search chair. It didn’t address me by name either, bcc’d as it was to all four finalists, but it greeted us with a sunshiny “Good afternoon.” It thanked “me” for “my” interest in the position, informed “me” that a new provost would reevaluate matters, and explained that was why “the search has been failed” (sic). These two messages summed up an almost complete failure of professional communication and collegial courtesy in the aftermath of my visit.

Now, I do understand that administrative leaders may prefer not to explain to finalists why they didn’t get chosen. That’s why they often charge search consultants with this unenviable task. And I understand that having a provost step down midyear creates disarray. However, what administrators at places like Sunshine University forget is that they owe the finalists at least a modicum of professional courtesy. That’s most easily done with a quick collegial phone call, which continues the personal connection established during the visit.

In fact, I have stayed in touch with some of the senior administrators who have shown such professional courtesy, enjoying ongoing exchanges. I wasn’t offered, but had to request, a video call with the president at Sunshine University. They expressed surprise at the lack of professional communication I had experienced. At several points during our conversation, the president exclaimed that what happened “just isn’t us!”

The use of the personal pronoun in the president’s statement confirms the dissonance between Sunshine’s actual way of communicating with candidates and the “us” that is the institution’s desired reputation and brand. It is in this area of dissonance that hiring agents and their institutions wreak the most havoc. By habitually treating finalists unprofessionally, a university creates a negative perception among a sizeable number of colleagues. Candidates spend time and enthusiasm on their participation in a campus interview. They prepare, take vacation days during a busy academic year, and in states with “sunshine laws,” even expose themselves and their application materials to public scrutiny and social media commentary. They also heavily invest their professional capital by requesting that their references, busy senior colleagues, answer phone calls to vouch for their professional qualifications. When all that investment doesn’t elicit even the most basic collegial treatment, it turns into antipathy.

What are the stories that the finalists and their references will tell when the name of Sunshine University comes up in the future? What is the damage to Sunshine’s brand when four finalists times five references at the receiving end of disenchanting behavior remember the institution when, say, U.S. News & World Report requests they determine the reputation scores for the annual college rankings? Academic reputation, cost of attending and return on investment are the top three considerations for students and their parents picking a university, and the “reputation” score makes up 20 percent of an institution’s U.S. News overall ranking. And it is presidents, provosts and deans that are asked for their opinion on reputation—the very people an institution like Sunshine University has alienated by cutting corners on collegial communication. Distributing more pens and coasters with the university logo will not save Sunshine’s brand from the kind of damage the sorry treatment of its administrative job candidates can do.